On the day of the press conference, Clyde and I were practically marionettes, reciting our prepared speeches according to plan. Every question from the journalists was pre-arranged, allowing us to respond with rehearsed ease.
I even had my ultrasound scan on hand, proving the tiny life growing inside me.
Most of the journalists, having good relations with the Patterson family, didn’t press us too hard.
Their questions were straightforward, some even touching on matters concerning Ironvale.
Despite Clyde’s scatterbrained moments, his memory served him well, remembering all the answers after just a few glances.
I stood by, forcing a smile, feeling somewhat superfluous.
But I had no choice; with our child on the way, my presence was mandatory.
To really make a splash with the press conference, a bunch of media outlets were broadcasting it live.
Watching the well-wishes stream across the big screen only deepened my sense of desolation.
Amid this facade of happiness, the congratulations felt hollow.
Suddenly, a journalist made her way to the front, microphone held high.
“Mrs. Patterson, are the rumors about your roommate online all false?”
“Sorry, there are too many rumors online, and most of them are unfounded.”
I didn’t want to engage with her more than necessary; something about her rubbed me the wrong way.
Her intrusion opened the floodgates, with other journalists starting to ask unapproved questions.
“Mr. Patterson, was she the only girlfriend you had in college, or just the only one publicly?”
“Mrs. Patterson, does Mr. Patterson’s past relationships really not bother you?”
“You were once kidnapped by one of Mr. Patterson’s ex-lovers. Don’t you hold a grudge? Why would you agree to have his child?” “Does Clyde truly love you, or is this all for show?”
Some journalists seemed to thrive on the chaos, but others asked their questions with deliberate intent.
Thinking of how York had been undermined at the company lately, my gaze darkened.
Clyde, understanding the need to present a united front, immediately adopted a colder demeanor.
“Which outlet are you with? Don’t you use your brain before asking questions?”
“Melanie and are an open book. She’s
probegnant; if you have a
problem, direct it at me!”
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His words effectively shifted the journalists’ focus to him.
But then, Clyde’s expression changed as his phone rang, displaying a single name:
en.st
I tugged at his sleeve subtly, but he dismissed the call.
However, the calls persisted, soon replaced by a barrage of messages.
[Clyde, I have a fever. It’s really bad, I think I might die.]
My grip on Clyde’s sleeve loosened as he,
hout a second t
rushed out with his phone.
“Clyde!”
I acted quickly, grabbing his jacket.
“Do you realize what you’re doing right now?”
I tried to signal him with my eyes, begging him to notice the surrounding journalists.
“Ran has a fever; she was already unwell yesterday. I have to go back to her!”
He whispered, though I was sure the front row could hear given our proximity.
“Clyde, you’re out of your mind!”
I nearly roared, refusing to let go of his hand.
“And you’d have me ignore her life for your sake?”
With a sudden jerk, Clyde wrenched his hand free and pushed me away.
Already weak, I stumbled and fell backward.
I watched him leave the press conference without looking back, while I crashed to the ground.
Oddly, I felt nothing from the fall.
Then, a gasp from a young journalist in the front row.
“Blood! Mrs. Patterson is bleeding!”
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